by Janet Dailey
The canter blew away some of the cobwebs, leaving Angie feeling refreshed and vaguely exhilarated, her resolve strengthened. Her face glowed with it when they pulled up at the ranch’s massive barn. Shifting her weight to the left stirrup, she started to swing out of the saddle and felt the warning twinge from her thigh muscles. She turned the instinctive groan into a laugh.
“Something tells me I’m going to be stiff and sore in the morning.” Hanging on to the saddlehorn, she lowered herself to the ground, stretching muscles that didn’t want to be stretched. “I’d forgotten how long it’s been since I was in the saddle. That’s what I get for giving you such a hard time about your hangover.”
“That ought to teach you.” Luke led his horse to the corral fence and looped the reins in a half hitch around the top rail.
“It should.” Angie copied his movements, then hooked the stirrup on the saddlehorn and went to work loosening the cinch. “Holding your head isn’t nearly as embarrassing as holding your backside.”
Something moved in the deep shadows just inside the open barn door, catching Angie’s eye. Dulcie sidled into view, dressed in a pair of cutoffs and a faded red T-shirt, her sockless feet shoved into dirty, frayed sneakers.
“Hi, Dulcie.” Angie smiled at the girl. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled and toed at the ground, both hands clasped behind her back.
“Is Tobe in there?” Luke nodded, indicating the barn. “Tell him to come out and give a hand with these horses.”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone. Gone where?” He stopped with the saddle pulled halfway off the horse’s back. Snorting, the bay gelding swung its body out from under it.
Dulcie shook her head, indicating she didn’t know, then offered, “He said he wouldn’t be gone long.” She darted an apologetic glance at Angie. “He didn’t think you’d get back so soon.”
“Obviously,” Luke muttered dryly and carried the saddle and its heavy pad over to the corral, then hefted it onto the top rail. He walked back to his mount, his glance running to search the area around the trailer. “Are you here by yourself? I don’t see Fargo’s truck.”
“He was out of tobacco. After we got through with the dishes, he went into town to get some.”
Luke stepped to the gray when Angie started to drag the saddle from its back. “I’ll get that for you.”
“I can manage,” she refused, with a smile. “I may be out of shape but I’m not weak.”
He watched as she toted it to the corral and lifted it onto the fence. Turning, he reached for the saddle blanket and started wiping the sweat from the bay’s back, then glanced curiously at Dulcie, suspicion forming in his mind.
“What were you doing in the barn, Dulcie?”
She ducked her head and chewed at her lower lip, trying to avoid answering his question.
“Dulcie,” Luke repeated with a note of warning.
“Playing.”
“You were playing with those wild kittens again, weren’t you?” he guessed, then noticed the tight way her arms were pressed behind her. “One of them finally scratched you this time, I’ll bet.”
Nodding, she dropped her chin even lower. “Just a little scratch.”
Angie darted a look of concern at Luke, then moved toward the girl. “You’d better let me take a look at your arm, Dulcie. Even a little scratch can become a bad one if it becomes infected.”
With great reluctance, Dulcie drew both arms from behind her back and presented the injured one to Angie for inspection. Blood seeped and smeared from the scoring marks left by tiny, razor-sharp claws, making it difficult to judge the depth of the cuts.
“I’ll bet it hurts, doesn’t it?” Angie ventured and received a small nod from Dulcie. Placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder, she gently turned her toward the mobile home. “Come on. We’ll go to the trailer and get you cleaned up.”
“There’s a first-aid kit on the pantry shelf in the kitchen,” Luke told her. “Dulcie can show you. I’ll see to the horses.”
“Would you bring my purse when you come?”
“Sure.”
Dulcie stood on a chair pulled up to the kitchen sink while Angie gently washed her arm with soap and water. The first-aid kit lay open on the counter next to the sink, a can of antiseptic spray sitting beside it.
“It stings, doesn’t it?” Angie guessed when Dulcie sucked in a hissing breath.
“A little,” she admitted.
“That should do it.” Angie turned on the faucet, letting the water run and adjusting the temperature of it. “If there are any germs left, the spray should take care of it.”
Once the soap was rinsed from Dulcie’s arm, Angie tore off a couple sheets of paper towels and dried it, carefully blotting the scratched area.
“How big are the kittens?”
“Not very big.” There was a long pause before Dulcie offered an unsolicited explanation. “The yellow one doesn’t mind if I pet her. But she got scared when I picked her up. That’s when she scratched me.”
“She was probably afraid you were going to take her away from her momma and her brothers and sisters.” Angie sprayed a generous coating of antiseptic over the scratches. Several of the deeper ones continued to ooze blood.
“I would never have taken her away from her momma.” Dulcie looked stricken at the suggestion.
“I know you wouldn’t. But the kitten didn’t know that.”
“I guess not.”
Angie dabbed at the gathering droplets of blood. “We’ll need to put a Band-Aid on a couple of these so you don’t get blood on your clothes.”
“Okay.” Dulcie watched while Angie rummaged through the first-aid kit for some medium-sized Band-Aids. Her eyes were drawn to the rich russet red of Angie’s long wavy hair. “I wish my hair was the color of yours.”
There was a rueful twist to the smile Angie briefly directed Dulcie’s way. “When I was your age, I absolutely hated it.”
“But it’s beautiful,” Dulcie protested, aghast.
“You don’t know how the other kids used to tease me—and call me things like Carrot-top and Cherry Head. The worst of all was Red Rooster, because they’d flap their arms like a chicken and crow.” She peeled off the protective strips on one bandage, exposing the adhesive side.
“I’ll bet it was mostly boys who did that.”
“Mostly.”
“Sometimes they call me Whitey,” Dulcie admitted when Angie placed the Band-Aid over a scratch and smoothed the adhesive ends firmly onto her skin.
Their heads close, Angie glanced at Dulcie, her eyes atwinkle. “That’s as bad as Carrot-top.” The wideness of her grin invited laughter, and Dulcie giggled, finding humor in a situation where before there had been only hurt. “Believe me,” Angie said with a wink, “there are women who would pay lots of money to have pale blond hair the color of yours.”
Unconvinced, Dulcie made a face. “It’s ugly.”
“It’s beautiful. The color of moonbeams.”
“Moonbeams.” The description caught her interest.
“Moonbeams,” Angie repeated with emphasis and smoothed the last bandage in place. “And just think—God made your hair that color on purpose. He wants everyone to know how very special you are to Him.”
The desire to believe that was in her eyes, but doubt held her back. “How do you know that?”
“My grandmother told me,” Angie replied as Luke entered through the trailer’s rear door.
He paused at the sight of the two heads bent close together, one pale and fair, the other dark and vivid. There was something sweetly innocent and intimate about the scene that made him catch hold of the door, stopping it from swinging shut and revealing his presence.
“And when I got older I learned she was absolutely right,” Angie continued. “The color of your hair is beautiful; the color of my hair is beautiful. But they’re different, and that’s good.”
A perplexed frown knitted Dulcie’s forehead. “
But what did you do to make the kids stop calling you names?”
A smile deepened the corners of Angie’s mouth. “You mean, instead of socking them in the nose?” Dulcie clamped a hand over her mouth, smothering a giggle at Angie’s response. “My mom suggested that I make a point of finding something nice to say about their hair every time they called me a name. It took a while—quite a while, in fact—but eventually they did stop teasing me. I think it becomes hard to be mean to someone who’s nice to you.”
Dulcie thought about that for all of two seconds, then released an exaggerated sigh and declared, “That wouldn’t work with Tommy Foster. He’s mean to everybody.”
“That might indicate he needs it the most.”
“Tommy?!” she said with wide incredulity, showing more animation than Luke had ever seen before.
Angie laughed at Dulcie’s reaction, then challenged lightly, “Why not?”
“Because—” Dulcie groped for an explanation, then settled for the single word she had already spoken. “Besides, his hair is always dirty and yucky.”
“Then tell him how nice it looks when it’s clean.”
“Maybe.” Tired of talking about Tommy Foster, Dulcie sought to change the subject by grabbing a chunk of hair from her ponytail and drawing it forward to studiously examine its long, pale strands. “The color is kinda like moonbeams,” she concluded, then lifted her gaze to Angie’s hair, a wistful quality entering her expression. “But I still wish it was curly like yours.”
Angie threw her head back and laughed, a sound that was spontaneous and warm. A glimmer of hurt feelings appeared to dull Dulcie’s eyes. Before she could retreat into her shell of silence, Angie explained, laughter still in her voice, “You aren’t going to believe this, Dulcie, but when I was younger, I used to iron my hair so it would be straight like yours.”
Dulcie’s eyes popped wide with astonishment. “Why would you want it to be straight?”
“Because that was the popular style. But, after burning myself with the iron a couple of times, I realized that not only was it too much work, but it was also too dangerous trying to make my hair be something it was never meant to be. So, I decided to accept that it was red and curly—that it wasn’t going to change and that I might as well enjoy it just the way it is. I’m a lot happier now.”
Dulcie studied her own hair again. “Maybe I could do that.”
“I’ll bet you can,” Angie told her. “I’ll bet you can do anything you set your mind to do.”
There wasn’t an ounce of shyness or self-doubt in the smile Dulcie beamed at Angie. “I could, couldn’t I? I mean, I did get that yellow kitten to finally let me pet her.” Without a pause, she made the jump to her next subject. “I thought I might call her Sunshine, ’cause she’s yellow like sunshine. Don’t you think that would be a good name for her?”
“It sounds like a perfect name. But I’d wait a while before I’d try to pick her up again if I were you.” Angie tapped an admonishing finger on the tip of Dulcie’s nose, a gesture that was full of affection and one that, like this scene, resurrected old memories for Luke. The painful kind.
He released the door, letting it swing shut with a little bang that slammed the one in his mind. Both Angie and Dulcie turned to face him with a start of surprise. Dulcie’s smile vanished at the sight of him, a look of dejection stealing through her expression.
Stung by her reaction to him, Luke narrowed his eyes to make a sharp sweep of her arms. “Got the scratches all cleaned up, I see.”
“That’s right.” Angie stood up and returned the first-aid kit to its proper place on the pantry shelf.
He looked pointedly at Dulcie. “Maybe next time you’ll remember those kittens are wild.”
Head bowed, she mumbled, “Yes, sir.”
But he knew she wouldn’t. She’d already given the kitten a name. Sunshine. But he couldn’t remind her of that without revealing how long he’d been standing inside the door listening to them—something he was reluctant to do.
“Since Tobe hasn’t shown up yet, I’ll give you a ride back to town whenever you’re ready to go,” he said to Angie, in an abrupt change of subject.
“I’m ready now.”
“Good.” He took a step toward the door.
“You’d better run and put on a clean top before we go, Dulcie,” Angie told her. “You have blood on that one.”
Dulcie’s eyes widened in surprise. “Am I going with you?”
Startled by the question, Angie shot a confused glance at Luke, then answered, “Of course you are. You can’t stay here on the ranch by yourself. Now, scoot.”
Dulcie glanced uncertainly at Luke as if expecting him to object. In that instant, she looked young and vulnerable, much too young to be left alone even if Tobe should return five minutes after they left.
“You heard her—scoot,” Luke said, his reply echoing Angie’s, and Dulcie took off for her room like a cannon shot. Luke watched her a moment, then cast a bemused sideways glance at Angie. “What kind of a spell have you cast over her?”
“Spell?” She looked genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”
He wanted to comment on Dulcie’s new animation and liveliness, but that sounded vague—and a little silly. Discarding that explanation, he chose another. “I overheard some of your conversation earlier,” he admitted. “I’ve never heard Dulcie talk so much before.”
Angie held his gaze for a long, silent second. Then her lips curved in a faint smile. “Maybe she doesn’t do much talking because nobody takes the time to listen.” She used a gently suggestive tone rather than a judgmental one. But it still hit its target.
“Ouch,” Luke reacted, with a mock wince.
She laughed, and the sound had the same enveloping warmth and spontaneity that he’d heard in it before with Dulcie, the kind that was meant to be shared. He felt the pull of it—and of her. He wanted to catch her up in his arms and spin her around, pull off that ridiculous ball cap, and bury his hands in that mass of long red hair and find out if those lips were as kissable as they looked.
But he put a brake on such thoughts, fully aware it wouldn’t stop with just a kiss.
“I’d better leave a note for Tobe so he doesn’t wonder where Dulcie is when he comes back.” When he crossed to the counter to tear off a sheet from the scratch pad by the telephone, Dulcie dashed breathlessly into the kitchen, the red top exchanged for a clean but slightly wrinkled blue one.
“I’m ready,” she announced.
“That was quick.” Angie smiled in approval.
“We’ll go just as soon as I finish this note to your brother.” Luke glanced up from his hastily scribbled message and noticed the hairbrush in her hand. “What’s that for?”
“I’ve got straw in my hair,” Dulcie explained, self-consciously touching her ponytail. “I thought I’d brush it out in the truck so you wouldn’t have to wait for me.”
“Good idea.” Luke nodded absently and signed the note, then carried it to the table and placed it in plain sight. “We’re all set. Let’s go.”
As the two filed ahead of him toward the door, the entire scenario seemed too much like a family outing for Luke to be comfortable with it.
Chapter Eleven
The first few miles were covered in silence, with Luke keeping all of his attention on the road. Beside him in the seat, Dulcie had freed her hair from its elastic band and dragged it all in front of her. Stroke after methodical stroke, she ran the brush through her hair. The last wisp of straw had long since been removed, yet she continued to comb the bristles through it, all the while studying the way it had begun to glisten.
Glancing at Angie, she whispered with barely suppressed excitement, “It kinda shimmers like moonbeams, doesn’t it?”
“Definitely.” Angie’s smile of agreement was quick and warm, reaching all the way to her eyes. “Here.” She reached for the brush, the ponytail twister wrapped around the handle of it. “Let me put it in a ponytail for you.”
; Dulcie passed her the brush, then turned sideways in the seat, as much as the seat belt would allow, and presented her back to Angie. With practiced ease, Angie gathered up the long, straight hair and began smoothing it into place with the brush.
“Do you really know where that gold is buried, Angie?” Dulcie asked unexpectedly. “Tobe says you do.”
“I’m afraid your brother is wrong this time.” Angie softened her words with a smile. “I wish I could walk right to the spot and pick it up, but I can’t.”
Dulcie, lost in a daydream, gazed at the pickup’s worn seat cushion. “I wish I could find that gold.” The fervency in her voice was moving.
“What would you do with it if you found it?” Angie wondered curiously.
In answer, Dulcie asked, “Do you think there would be enough gold to get a ranch for Tobe and a house for me?”
“Probably. Is that what you want? A house?” With the twist tie she made the first wrap to secure Dulcie’s ponytail.
Dulcie nodded. “A home that’s just ours. Nobody else’s. That’s not wrong, is it?” she asked, suddenly uncertain.
“Of course it isn’t,” Angie assured her. “Everybody likes to feel they belong somewhere.”
“Gold.” A sardonic humor curled through Luke’s voice and glittered in the glance that ricocheted off Angie. “Now, you’ve got her dreaming about finding it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with dreaming.” She pulled Dulcie’s hair through the last wrap and arranged the long tail to hang smooth and straight.
“There are dreams, and then there are pipe dreams.” Luke reduced the pickup’s speed as they approached the collection of buildings that comprised the town of Glory. “That gold is a pipe dream.”
But his negative attitude had no effect on her. Smiling easily, Angie murmured a confident-sounding, “We’ll see.”
“You certainly will,” Luke countered, his amused tone as dry as the roadside dust. As he braked to make the turn into the parking lot of the Rimrock Bar & Grill, his glance flicked to the two pickups already there. “Now we know where Tobe and Fargo are.”
